Astoreth does Ferelden Part 7: Denerim
by Natmonkey
Summary: Follow Astoreth as she traipses through Ferelden and shares her thoughts and wonders. In this instalment: our heroine and her friends set out for a wild goose chase, which doesn't turn out to be so wild after all.
1. Wet Dogs and Harpy Sisters

_So... Welcome to part seven of Astoreth's journey. This was going to have Denerim, Haven and the Ruined temple in the title, but that didn't fit. Thanks for all the reviews on previous parts. I'm going to shamelessly advertise myself, because I made some drawings I'm really damned proud of. If you go to my profile, you can go to my "homepage". There you'll find a drawing of Astoreth and Cullen making out. Maybe the Cullen lovers here will like it? _

* * *

Here we are, the market square of Denerim. Smells like wet dogs and rotting garbage, but looks colourful and cheery. Hooray! We had better keep a low profile though, seeing how the Grey Wardens aren't too popular at the moment. Courtesy of Teyrn Loghain. Fucker. The trip here from Redcliffe was really ridiculously long, but otherwise uneventful. You know, apart from the odd band of darkspawn. And the assassins. This time there were only five or so of them and after questioning their leader, it turned out they were after 'the little redhead'. Some woman named Marjolaine had sent them to kill her.

Leliana immediately broke down crying and the entire story of her life in Orlais spilled from her in one long waterfall of words. She'd been a bard, a spy in the employ of nobles, a master of intrigue, an artist with... Well, you get the idea. Marjolaine had been the one to teach her the trade and eventually betrayed her by accusing her of selling governmental secrets to other nations. Our poor bard was tortured and punished, but managed to escape to Lothering and joined the Chantry there. I promised her we would go _talk_ to Marjolaine, here in Denerim. Talk, sure. This can only end in death.

Alistair hasn't been his usual talkative self lately. I imagine it's because he's nervous to meet his sister. When we were stuck in the sloth demon's domain, he dreamt that Goldanna had welcomed him with open arms and they were leading this cosy family life, complete with afternoon tea and mince pies. I hope his dream comes true, really, but odds are it won't. I hope the poor boy won't take it too hard if that is the case.

First off though, we'll be heading to this Brother Genitivi's house. Bann Teagan was kind enough to provide us with a detailed map of Denerim, on which lady Isolde had marked the spot. It's close. Look at that, so many stalls with various goods. I'm going to do some mad shopping if I get the chance to.

* * *

Is this the Maker's idea of a joke, or something? Blood and guts. At Genitivi's house his assistant, I think, said that his master had gone to the Spoiled Princess Inn. When I went into the Brother's bedroom (rude, I know, but we adventurers cannot control the urge to just barge into places) to find more clues, maybe a journal or something, I found a corpse there. Of the assistant. Upon which his imposter promptly attacked us and got killed. I'd have just fled if I were him; we outnumbered him by far. Turns out the wretch was lying too; in the bedroom I found a map that marked the village of Haven as the Urn's possible location. And lo and behold, Haven is pretty damned close to Redcliffe. Had we but known. And now, to speak with that Marjolaine character.

* * *

As I suspected, our little talk with Marjolaine could only have ended in death. _Her_ death, mind you, not of any of us. The woman was paranoid, convinced that Leliana had been plotting against her in the Chantry to avenge her betrayal. Idiocy. Leliana was inclined to let the woman go, but I convinced her not to. She would never have left her alone, no doubt popping up when least convenient.

So we killed her and her lackeys, and that was that. Leliana became very quiet and pensive afterwards, so very different from the chatter I am used from her. She would spend hours fawning over fashion in Orlais, complaining of how in Ferelden we don't wear pretty high-heeled shoes or eat fancy things like croissants. What would you expect? We're adventurers, not nobles.

When we found an inn to spend the night in (understandably we are all weary of travel for the time being), she decided to remain there and have some time to herself. I offered to stay with her, but she insisted I enjoy the sights and go shopping, or something. I take it she needs to be alone and think things over.

* * *

We have all scattered about the place for exploration (Zevran said something about visiting a brothel; no surprise there), Alistair and myself looking for his sister's house. Stubbs is following us closely.

"That's... my sister's house," he suddenly says in a shaky voice. His eyes scan the surroundings. "I'm almost sure of it... Yes, this is the right address. She could be inside." He eyes me nervously. "Could we... go and see?" He sounds so small and insecure. Poor thing.

I grab a hold of his hand and squeeze. "Of course. Whenever you're ready."

"Will she know who I am? Does she even know I exist? My sister. That sounds very strange." He continues pronouncing the word 'sister' in different intonations and voices. "Now I'm babbling. Let's just go." Almost bouncing with nerves he opens the door and yanks me through.

The house is rather small, and... squalid. Goldanna isn't living in the lap of luxury. "Hello?" Alistair shouts.

A tall, thin woman with reddish hair emerges from a back room. "Eh? You have linens to wash?" she asks coarsely. "I charge..."

"No, I'm not here to have any wash done," Alistair cuts her off in obvious nervousness. "My name is Alistair. This may sound strange, but..." He clears his throat. "Are you Goldanna? If so, I suppose I'm your brother." Ow, ow! His hand is clutching mine so tightly I fear he might squish it into a pulp.

"My what?" the woman replies incredulously. "I am Goldanna, yes. How do you know my name? What tomfoolery are you folk up to?" She cocks her head to the side, regarding her brother with wary eyes. I don't think my mabari likes this woman; from his posture I can tell he's nervous. And then there's the low growling, of course.

"Look, our mother..." Poor Alistair is getting more and more nervous with every passing moment. He even seems to be shrinking. "She worked as a servant in Redcliffe Castle a long time ago..."

"You! I knew it!" Goldanna cries out. "Them's at the castle told me the babe was dead along with Mother, but I knew they was lying! I told them the babe was the king's; they gave me a coin to shut my mouth and sent me on my way. I knew it!" Her voice sounds almost triumphant. Hooray for being right, I guess.

My friend's face has turned very, very sad. "I'm sorry, I didn't know that. The babe didn't die; I'm him. I'm... your brother." He eyes her expectantly, his grip on my hand so strong my bones might snap at any given moment. I don't want to ruin the moment though, so all I can do is put on a painful face.

Goldanna's triumphant expression turns to a scowl. "For all the good it does me!" she scoffs. "You killed Mother, you did, and I've had to scrape by all this time?" She continues grumbling with her arms folded before her chest.

"Now that's hardly his fault, is it?" I can't help but butt in; Alistair doesn't deserve this kind of treatment. The woman doesn't even know him. In the meantime Stubbs' growling has become louder as well. Boy, is he a good judge of character.

"And who in the Maker's name are you?" Her angry gaze shifts to me. "Some tart, following after his riches, I expect?"

For a moment I stare at the woman. Torn between feeling offended at "tart" and being amused at "riches", I choose to just burst out laughing. "_Riches_? What riches?"

"Hey! Don't speak to her that way!" Alistair is quick to jump to my defence. "She's my friend, and a Grey Warden! Just like me!"

"Oh, I see," she drawls, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "A prince and a Grey Warden too. Well, who am I to think poorly of someone so high and mighty? I don't know you, boy. Your royal father forced himself on my mother and took her away from me! I've got five mouths to feed and unless you can help with that, I've got less than no use for you." Her words are mean and biting, turning her poor little brother into a quivering pile of misery. I can see he's close to tears.

"It would seem she's only interested in your money," I quietly tell my despondent friend.

He sighs. "So it would seem. Let's go." He turns and opens the door. I quickly give Goldanna the finger before exiting, making her gasp indignantly. My hound gives her an angry bark. Bitter, bitter woman.

"Well, that was... not what I expected, to put it lightly." Alistair looks about as miserable as he did after Duncan's death. "That gold-digging harridan is my sister? I can't believe it."

There's not much I can say. Another illusion crushed, another dream shattered. All I can do is hold his hands and look at him sympathetically. My hand bloody hurts, but it's nothing I can't handle.

He sadly shakes his head. "I... I guess I was expecting her to accept me without question. Isn't that what family is supposed to do? I feel like a complete idiot."

"_She's_ the idiot. You're a great guy, Alistair, and if she doesn't want to find that out for herself, then that's her loss." I release his hands to begin softly stroking his face. "Look, you should learn that everyone is out for themselves. Especially people like Goldanna, who live tough lives and really don't have that much of a choice."

"I suppose. Let's just go. I don't want to talk about this anymore," he says bitterly, staring at his feet.

"Come then, my friend, and let me buy you a drink." I link my arm with his and he languidly allows me to drag him to the tavern I spotted earlier.


	2. Smashed Dreams

_It's Lothering all over again, I tell you._

* * *

Five tankards of ale (Alistair) and three glasses of water (me) later, the poor guy is pretty deep in his cups. I shouldn't ingest alcohol for obvious reasons, but there's no reason for him not to drink away his sorrows. Not that it solves anything, mind you, but there's nothing to help distract you from your troubles like a night of drinking followed by a morning of puking and throbbing headaches.

"Astoreth," he jabbers, "I can always count on you!" His hand is resting rather intimately on my uncovered thigh, his head on the tabletop. "You were there when Duncan died, and you never made any smart comments about my father..."

"I'm here for you, for as long as I can be anyway." I take another sip of water. Sadly there was no milk to be had here.

He raises his head, looking a bit puzzled. "Huh? Whaddyamean?"

"We live dangerous lives, you know. I might just keel over and die at any moment." Oddly enough, I'm at peace with this fact. I could've been dead a long time ago, when I was caught trying to help Lily and Jowan escape.

Alistair gasps. "Nooo! Don't die!" Suddenly very emotional, he sniffles with suspiciously gleaming eyes. "What would I do without you?" he chirps. The corners of his mouth are turned down in a pitiful, but kind of cute expression.

"You'd get stranded somewhere without any pants." I give him a little pat on the head. "That's not the end of the world, is it?"

"But, but!" He sniffles again. "But what about the baby? Poor baby." Suddenly he slides himself off his chair and in an open display of affection begins rubbing his face against my belly. We are becoming quite the spectacle, drawing curious stares from other patrons. Stubbs, who's lying on the floor beside me and chewing on a large bone the barkeep rustled up somehow, seems as puzzled as all the others.

Obviously getting him drunk wasn't a very wise idea. I should've known from that time in Lothering. "Now, now, Alistair, this isn't the kind of behaviour one should exhibit in public. Be a good boy and sit on your chair."

He reluctantly gets up and does as I say. "Sorry," he mumbles all red faced.

"That's all right; you hardly know what you're doing." I encouragingly pat his hand.

And here comes the cavalry. Wynne walks in, beaming and armed with a few brimming bags. Following her closely, but obviously bored out of her mind and dragging her feet, is Morrigan. They wave as soon as they see us, the witch perking up visibly.

"Astoreth, please save me from this woman. She is trying to make me wear a dress!" Poor woman sounds desperate. Next to her Alistair sniffles and she turns, her dress-related woes immediately forgotten. "Whatever is the matter with him?" she asks in an amused voice.

"My sister doesn't love me!" the Warden bawls before bursting into tears and grabbing onto Morrigan for dear life. She looks at me wide-eyed, shocked beyond comprehension. Priceless.

"Get this sobbing wretch away from me," she hisses, weakly pushing him away. Alistair pays no heed to her words and continues pressing his face against her side, still crying vehemently. My hound looks at his friend with a sad whine and gets up to rest his head against his leg.

Should I let this go on, or should I help her? Watching this a little longer would be fun. But better that I release her from the boy's clutches before she loses her temper and turns him into a frog, or dust, or frog-dust. I carefully pry his arms away from the witch's waist and she keeps her distance, watching his distress with unveiled interest and glee. Of course he now clutches onto me, but I don't mind. While I stroke his hair and whisper soothing words to him, he gradually calms down. Does this mean I would make a good mother? I hope so.

The elderly mage looks at us, obviously worried. "Will he be all right?" she mouths. I nod. He will be fine eventually. If anything, experiencing this harsh reality will make him stronger. Or mess him up completely. Either way, it will change him.

"Do you think we should be heading to the inn? It's been a long, exhausting day," Wynne says tentatively.

"Yes, that is probably best. What do you say?" I ask Alistair. He nods silently. Morrigan simply shrugs and heads for the door. And so we leave for the inn, with my fellow Warden leaning heavily on Wynne and myself.

As soon as we arrive, Morrigan cheerfully bids us goodnight and locks herself in her room.

"I understand this has something to do with his sister?" Wynne affectionately ruffles Alistair's hair, giving him a worried look.

"Yes. In short, she said she had no use for him unless he would help her keep her children well-fed."

"My sister is a gold-digger," Alistair sobs sadly.

I pat him firmly on the back. "She doesn't deserve you, my friend."

"Don't leave me," he whimpers. "I don't want to be alone." He firmly wraps his arms around me.

"I'll never leave you alone. Well, not willingly anyway." I kiss his cheek and he seems to calm down. "Well, I will be staying with him, help him in case he needs to vomit, or anything. Goodnight."

"It's good to know he will be in capable hands. Goodnight, dear children." After another worried glance in Alistair's direction, Wynne disappears into her room, Stubbs following her closely. He's taken quite the shine to the old lady, even if she'd once suggested to make his "drab brown" fur purple. Violet, to be more precise. He then ran off with her staff, forcing her to chase him. Wynne is quite fast for someone her age.

It's hard work, but I drag Alistair into the room we'll be occupying tonight. He's not making it any easier for me with his desperate clutching. Finally I manage to lay him down on the bed. Marvellous; his armour needs to come off and he is in no shape to help. My fingers get cramped up from undoing all those straps and buckles and it takes me ages to remove his armour, but eventually I get the job done. I don't think I will be spending many hot nights with a warrior anytime soon, if this is what I have to look forward to every time.

Apparently his stupor has lifted a bit, for Alistair takes off his shirt himself. Oh, my. No matter how worried I am for him, seeing all that muscle gets me a little hot and bothered. Luckily he has the decency to crawl under the covers and remove his pants from there, otherwise I might've taken advantage of his vulnerable state. I'm a terrible person. Just terrible.

I kick off my boots and sit down next to him, on top of the covers. Instead of just falling asleep as I would expect from someone who is so depressed and drunk, he quietly stares at me. "Aren't you going to undress?" he asks eventually.

"No." I shake my head. "I'm probably not going to sleep."

"Why not?" he asks innocently, shuffling a little closer to me.

I clear my throat awkwardly. Suddenly I'm very aware of the fact that there is a handsome, almost naked young man here, covered only by a blanket and some sheets. He is so close I can feel the warmth coming off his body and it's been too long since the last time I got some. Odds are I need some every day, if possible. And he's right here... I don't want to be led into temptation. Actually I don't want to lead _him_ into temptation. This sweet, innocent boy deserves better than the tart following after his riches. Riches. Ha, ha, good one, Goldanna. "Because, you know, I'm worried about you. I have to make sure you'll be all right."

"I'm fine, just a little sad, I suppose. I'd expected her to... Well, never mind." He sighs sadly.

"I know. You expected her to be kind to you, to welcome you with open arms. Maybe a mince pie even, right?" I run my hand through his hair, feeling it tickle.

"Hmm, I had hoped you would've forgotten all about that. That... stupid dream. I can't believe I was foolish enough to believe Goldanna would just accept me," he grumbles.

I utter a long sigh. "You can't keep on beating yourself up over this. We all have our hopes, and now and then they get crushed. I'm sorry, but that is just the way the cookie crumbles sometimes." It's harsh of me, I know, but he needs to pull himself together. We've got all kinds of shit to do, and I need him in the right shape to do them. "Don't be too angry with Goldanna; I mean, we don't know what she's been through. Forget her. There are others who do care about you."

"Like you?" He fails in an effort to smile and reaches up to stroke my cheek with his calloused hand.

I place my hand over his, press my lips to his palm. "Yes, like me."

"Thanks for being here for me." This time he does manage to smile, albeit wanly.

"It's my pleasure." I pat his hand. "Although I'll think twice before letting you have that much ale next time."

Alistair snuggles up to me and buries his face in my chest. "I hope there won't be a next time like this," he mumbles. "Goodnight."

Well, I guess that settles it then. "Sweet dreams, dear." I plant a kiss atop his head and soon his snoring indicates he's sleeping.


	3. Faded Conscription

_It's random cameo time! Now, as you may have noticed, I'm not very big on disclaimers. But here I will have to apologize to David Gaider (although I know he will never see this here) that I completely stole this idea from _the Calling_. It does have that special Natmonkey flavour, and if you know me, you will know what flavour that is. Err, right, it's not supposed to sound that dirty. Let's just keep it at a Natmonkey twist, then. Much cleaner. _

* * *

My, the market is bustling. Wait, what? The last thing I remember was watching Alistair sleep. I must be sleeping myself, dreaming. I must be in the market square because I would like to do some shopping. Suddenly I feel a hand on my hip pouch, my own closing around the unknown person's wrist of its own accord. My reflexes aren't so bad, it seems.

A familiar pair of honey eyes set in a tanned face that could use a shave stare down on me in shock.

I raise an eyebrow. Hey, I know this guy! He's wearing normal clothes instead of the leathers I knew him in, but that's him all right."Daveth?"

His look of shock turns into one of horror and forcefully he twists out of my grasp before speeding away as if the archdemon itself is on his heels. But it's not the archdemon who's chasing him, just a Grey Warden mage who'd like to talk to him. No matter how much I yell for him to stop, he won't. Doesn't he recognize me?

From time to time he looks over his shoulder to see if I'm still following and thus runs straight into the arms of a group of similarly clad men, all of them bearing arms. The city garrison? Shouting triumphantly, they immediately shackle the unfortunate thief.

I run up to them, panting like a dog. "Excuse me, gentlemen?" I wheeze.

"Yes, Warden?" one of them asks, politely waiting for me to catch my breath. Now how did he know that? Because this is a dream, no doubt. Nobody's tattooed my forehead with the title in my sleep, did they? It's been a while since I've looked in a mirror.

"What are you going to do with him?" I point at Daveth, who seems to be rather distressed at getting caught. This rings a bell somewhere.

"Well, Warden, this man is wanted for several crimes so we are going to hang him. Why do you ask?" The guard looks at me quizzically.

As I'm pondering what I should do to free the cutpurse, words form in my mind automatically. "In that case I would like to invoke the Right of Conscription. Please release him." That's it, the Right of Conscription! I could just slap myself. Of course, that was the thing nagging in the back of my mind. Daveth told me how Duncan saved him from the gallows by using it and simultaneously obliging him to join. Is this my mind telling me how I might save Jowan? I wonder how he's doing. Are they feeding him? I hope so. He can't stand to become thinner than he already is.

"The Right of...?" The guardsman spits on the ground and curses wholeheartedly. "Fine. Let him go, men. The Wardens will deal with him."

I can't help but grin triumphantly. "Much obliged." I grab Daveth, who is furiously rubbing his now shackle-free wrists, by the elbow. "Let's go." Before he allows me to pull him along, he makes some rude gestures towards the guardsmen with his fingers. The middle ones.

Well, that was easy. Hmm. Okay, well, I have no idea where we're going. I hardly even know Denerim.

"Are you really a Grey Warden? How did you know my name? Where are you taking me?" Daveth rapidly fires questions at me.

"Yes. We've met before. Beats me, I hardly even know this city," I answer the questions in a most similar manner. "Are you staying someplace? If so, I would appreciate it if you took me there so we can talk."

"All right, this way." Firmly grabbing my wrist, he pulls me into a dirty back alley. "I suppose I should thank you for saving my life," he mumbles.

"Wait, don't you remember me? Aren't you a figment of my imagination then?" I look around as we walk and see nothing but dirt and darkness, sometimes a shady-looking person. Odd. I don't recall having seen this in Denerim. Is this even a dream? Well, it must be. Daveth is dead.

"A figment of...? No, I'm quite real, ask those guards if you don't believe me." Suddenly he stops, eyeing me nervously. "Do you see these figments of your imagination running about often?"

I can imagine being alone with a potentially dangerous lunatic would make me nervous too. This is so strange... The people I dream of always eagerly crush any illusion of them being real. And this one doesn't, for some reason. Well, this _is_ the Fade and anything could happen here.

"No, no, I'm not insane. But this is a dream, we're in the Fade. Surely a minor character in my own dream should remember me."

"A dream? Right. You're not really convincing me you're not crazy, you know." He tentatively takes a step back, dropping my wrist like a hot potato.

His reaction makes me chuckle. I'm a bit crazy, sure, but I'm not dangerous. Or am I? "You know what, I'll explain everything once we're at your place."

"Fine with me." He shrugs and continues dragging me along. "But don't try anything funny."

We walk in silence, the thief sometimes looking at me over his shoulder, probably to see if I'm up to anything funny. Eventually he gives up, assured I'm not going to kill him in any way. Finally we arrive at a run-down house, but apparently we're not there yet. We climb several stairs to enter a very small attic chamber that has only a bed for a single person and some hooks to, I suppose, hang clothes on.

"Well, sit down, make yourself at home," he says, gesturing toward the bed. I remove my boots and sit down, folding my legs under me. Every movement makes the thing creak loudly. Sleeping in it must be a regular treat. I pat the area next to me, but my companion shakes his head. "Tell me what you want from me."

"I don't want anything from you, I just want to know why I'm here. I mean, in this dream, not in this room. Charming place this is." It's a room made for only two things: sleeping and sex. And apparently hiding from the authorities.

"Why do you insist this is a dream? Crazy woman," he mutters. "And what do you mean, we've met before? I've never seen you in my life. Before I tried to cut your purse, that is."

What _is_ this? If this were my dream, he should know everything I know. Unless this isn't my dream, but his. That would explain his stubbornness and the detailed surroundings. It is said that when people die, their spirits have to cross the Fade before they reach their place beside the Maker. But sometimes these spirits become lost and get stuck in the Fade. And here I thought ghosts were simply made up to scare children and nervous adults.

"I'm hurt that you would forget me so easily. Think. Do you remember anything about Duncan saving your life, going to Ostagar?" And here is my trump card, uttered in a low husky voice: "Spending a night in a bedroll with me, in the Korcari Wilds?"

Daveth flashes his teeth in a wide grin. "Sadly, no. I've been to the Wilds a few times as a youngster, but I'm sure I would remember spending a night with a lovely woman such as yourself."

"Well, then." I get up and beckon him. "Come a little closer so that I may refresh your memory."

As soon as he leans in, I fling my arms around his neck and begin kissing him in much the same way he did me. Right before he died. At first he freezes, but soon relaxes and passionately kisses me back, slipping his tongue into my mouth. I hope this will actually make him remember (not that I mind doing it) as this kiss is nowhere near the same as the one we shared before the Joining. It's slow and sensual, not hasty and desperate.

When I finally let go of him and look into his eyes, I see a spark of recognition there. He blinks a few times and raises his eyebrows. "Mage girl?" he says softly.

I smile at him. "Ah, there we go. It's me, Astoreth. Do you remember now?"

The confusion on his face turns into anguish as he begins yelling at me for making him remember. Don't I realize how much it hurts to know you're dead, to be stuck in the Fade and finally finding some peace in a dream, even if it's only a dream? He roughly pushes me back, landing me on the bed with a loud creak, and begins pacing around the room. Frantically running his hands through his hair, he rants on about how I have no right to do this, how I should've just left him alone. Never mind the fact that he'd been the one to try and steal from me, not the other way around.

Finally he sighs and slumps down next to me, onto the bed. "I'm sorry. I guess I just had to get that out of my system."

"You're right. I shouldn't have bothered you. If you wish, I could just leave and you can forget everything all over again." I'm such an idiot to interfere in these things. Should've just taken him from those guards and left him alone afterwards.

Daveth offers me a wan smile and lays his hand on my knee. "No, please stay. I missed you."

"Really?" I clamber onto his lap and rest my arms around his shoulders. "I missed you too." It's good to see him again, even if it's only half real. Softly I kiss his lips, since there is nothing holding me back now.

For a moment he's taken aback by my behaviour, staring at me curiously. Eventually his arms wrap around my waist and he smiles, his sadness lifted a little. "Why are you here anyway? And whatever happened to your face?"

"About my face: we were ambushed by assassins and one of them cut me. As for why I'm here... I don't know. Lately I've been racking my brain to think of a way to save a friend, and it just wouldn't come to me. I thought this was simply a dream to remind me of the Right of Conscription." I run my hand through his hair (it's soft, like Cullen's) and smile. "But I guess I was wrong."

He nods slowly, a pensive expression on his face. "I was having these dreams of you, almost every night. I saw you getting hurt in a fight with an ogre." A small smile lights up his face. "I yelled 'Come on, Astoreth, you can do it!', I did. And then I saw some guy in a fancy outfit hit on you. Even saw you tackle Alistair once. Good one." He chuckles. "Maybe it's my fault you're here."

So all that wasn't my imagination. "Your... _fault_? I don't mind being here. Do _you_ mind me being here?" I ask innocently, running my fingers up and down the back of his neck. My question is pretty much already answered by his hand gliding along my uncovered stocking.

Nuzzling my neck, he says: "Kind of a stupid question, don't you think?" A shudder travels through my body when his lips make contact with my skin. "Are you cold?" he asks in a concerned voice, pulling me closer to his chest.

Naturally I'm not cold. I'm in a tiny room, sitting on the lap of a man I had a hard time keeping my hands off previously. And now I don't even have to restrain myself; I'm free as a bird. Still...


	4. Another Show Like That

"Yes, very cold. I may even need your help warming up," I whisper into his ear.

"I have just the thing." Lips curved in a dazzling smile he produces a flask from his pocket, offers it to me.

What, wasn't I suggestive enough? "That... wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

"I thought so." He sighs and pockets the flask again. "Why are you so eager? Aren't you spoken for?"

I shake my head. "No, not anymore." The sorrow I initially felt after Cullen leaving me is replaced by worry for his mental condition. Maybe if I get the chance, I'll go back to Kinloch Hold and see how he's doing.

"Oh..." Daveth perks up visibly. "I'm ah, sorry to hear that." His fingers slipping under the edge of my stocking and pulling it down to caress the bare skin of my thigh contradict his words.

I shrug. "It's for the best. It would never have worked out, you know, with him being a templar and me being a mage and all."

"A templar?" He gasps. "I was hoping you were a bad girl, but I had no idea you were _that_ bad..." With a low chuckle he begins placing light kisses along my throat. The feelings I had those two whole days I've known him are coming back in full force. They pretty much revolve around pushing him onto the bed and making it creak madly until the break of dawn. And you know what, I think I might just do that.

Pushing his shoulders down, I say: "How would you like a little demonstration of how bad I am?"

"I would like that a lot." His honey-coloured eyes light up and he kicks off his boots. "I would _love_ it, even." Apparently full of all kinds of expectations, he lies down in the middle of his rather narrow bed.

I straddle his midsection, effectively pinning his arms under my knees. "Do you remember that time behind the tree?" Slowly I undo the buttons on my robes, looking down on my favourite thief's handsome face. My behind is resting on something very familiar and very hard. Today will be the day I find out what he has in his pants, hooray! I'm a poet and I didn't even know it.

"How could I forget?" he whispers, an expression of lust appearing on his features. I slowly rock my hips back and forth over his erection, making him close his eyes and groan. How I love having a man at my mercy like this.

With only half of my buttons undone, I decide it is enough and shrug the garment off my shoulders until it lies crumpled around my waist. The buttons on my bodice soon follow suit to reveal my naked upper body. "I was thinking you might enjoy another show like that."

His eyes fly open and are immediately drawn to my breasts. My nipples harden under his appreciative gaze. "Can't I just touch you instead?" His voice sounds almost desperate and I have only just begun.

"No. You will only lie still and watch me. Understood?" I bend forward slightly and trace the outline of his lips with my finger. Poor thing cranes his neck to catch one of my nipples in my mouth, but I'm keeping my chest just out of his reach. I almost pity him. Almost. "Understood?"

Sighing in defeat, he nods and looks up at me. Desire is burning in his eyes. I slip my arms out of my sleeves and blindly throw away my bodice. Of course I'm well aware of the fact that my breasts jiggle with such movements. It has the desired effect; his breath catches in his throat and he squirms to free his arms. I can feel that his squirming is half-hearted and only pretend. He doesn't really want to be free of me.

By the time I'm done with him, he will want me _so_ badly. Even more than he does already. Now for the teasing... I cup my breasts, lightly squeezing the nipples between my fingers. Even though there's usually not much sensation there, goose bumps form on my skin under his watchful eyes. I throw back my head and moan, relishing the tortured sounds I elicit from the magnificent body lying underneath me.

My right hand slides down my stomach (it's really showing now) and disappears into my panties. My fingers emerge wet and glistening with moisture. I stare into my lover's beautiful eyes, watch him breathe in short gasps.

"Ah, look at how wet you make me," I purr, slowly running my tongue along my index finger.

"Please..." He swallows, his voice gravelly with barely contained longing. "Let me taste you."

"Why, certainly. Since you ask so nicely." I smile and slide my fingers into his mouth. He eagerly sucks them clean, eyes closed, an expression of pure delight on his face. I pull my fingers from his mouth with a popping sound and return them to the insisting area between my legs.

"More," he demands feebly. I simply ignore him; he is in no position to demand anything from me. Rubbing up against his hard-on, I continue playing with myself. With my eyes closed, it's as if nothing exists but my fingers and the parts I'm pleasuring, the rock-hard cock throbbing under my bum. I trace lazy circles around my button with my thumb, three fingers moving in and out of me, pressure building deep in my stomach.

"Oh Daveth," I moan. "You're driving me insane without even touching me." I'm so fucking aroused I hardly know what I'm saying; words just fly out of my mouth without a second thought. "I wanted you so badly and I couldn't have you then. But now..." I open my eyes to look at _my_ thief, the corners of my mouth turning up into a smirk. "Now you're mine."

"Sweetheart," he pants, "I've been yours from the moment we met."

That there is enough to send me flying over the edge, to have such power over another. I utter a loud scream as the waves of pleasure come crashing into me, swallowing me up and spitting me out on a coast of perfect bliss and ecstasy. Somewhere far away I hear sounds of appreciation, feel wriggling under me, but I'm still conscious enough to keep him in place.

After a while I return to my senses and see Daveth's face twisted into a mask of lust and torment. He looks as if he's ready to explode. We don't want that to happen, now do we? So I reach back and undo the laces that keep his trousers closed, stroking his erection through the fabric from time to time. A pained groan escapes his throat whenever I touch him, but when my fingers close around his uncovered length, _I_ groan. Finally. He's not the only one I've been torturing.

"Oh, my." I bite my lip in delight. His skin feels velvety soft, the flesh so hard it barely yields as I squeeze into him. What would it look like? I can't wait to wrap my lips around that. Both the upper and lower kind. Raising myself slightly, I push my panties to the side and begin rubbing his tip against my wet, waiting entrance. Butterflies begin fluttering in my tummy in anticipation, but I must resist.

My hands replace my knees as a means of holding him down. Now I hope he will do as I say like a good boy, because with my weak arms there is no way I could hold him down. I lower my upper body so I can kiss him, briefly slipping my tongue into his mouth, and subsequently pull his shirt up with my teeth to trail a path of kisses down his torso, lavishing his beautifully defined abdominal muscles with attention. And here it is, my prize.

His love-spear (dirty metaphors, I adore them) looks... elegant, almost. Quite long, reaching up almost to his navel, but not very thick, a slight curve to the entire thing. It is the same attractive caramel as the rest of his skin, the tip a colour akin to that of a blushing peach. I love peaches.

I lick along his length, eliciting a gasp and a moan from my lover's lips. As I blow my breath over the wet area, his body tenses and he makes a choked up noise that turns into a surprised squeak when I suck him into my mouth. Apparently I need both hands for this; I'm afraid I might hurt him with my teeth if I carry on like this. Sadly I must let go.

"Daveth?" I look up at him.

"Hmmm?" He raises his head to look back at me, stars glittering in his eyes.

"If I let your hands go..." A teasing lick low on his stomach. "...Will you be a good boy? You may touch me, but allow me to continue. Deal?"

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of interfering," he moans. "I'll be good. Promise." He lies back with a long sigh.

I release his wrists, but his hands continue to rest idly by his sides. Very good. I wrap my right hand around the base of his cock; it fits perfectly. Slowly my tongue twirls around the tip to lap up the clear liquid that trickles out. I like this taste, so pleasant and savoury. Gradually more and more of him disappears into my mouth. His appreciation for the caresses of my tongue is obvious: his hand has moved to softly caress my cheek, his fingers knotting into my hair, his barely audible voice whispering my name and all kinds of sweet nothings. That is unexpected. I thought he'd be assaulting my fragile little ears with dirty phrases. Now I actually feel sorry for teasing him like this.

I intensify my ministrations, applying more pressure with my mouth and having my hand join the effort. Sucking, licking and stroking seem to yield great results as the hardly perceivable twitch in his wonderful organ first turns into a dull throb and then into a more vehement one. Before long he erupts into my mouth with a series of strangled cries, his entire body as still as a statue.

After neatly licking him clean and swallowing my treat (as I have come to regard the thick, bitter liquid) I climb up for a cuddle, shedding my robes in the process. Daveth is breathing contently, a cross between panting and sighing. His amber eyes are misty with satisfaction as he eagerly takes me into his arms so that I may rest my head against his warm chest, breathe in his musky scent.

"Little vixen," he chuckles. His hands lazily roam across my back, sometimes straying to touch my behind.

"Oh, have I not pleased you?" I look up at him, sticking out my lower lip in a feigned pout.

"You have definitely not," Daveth replies to my shock and horror. "Not pleased me, that is. Get it?" His eyes narrow in laughter, clearly delighted with his little joke.

"Thank the Maker!" I roll my eyes. He had me there. "You almost made me think I was losing my touch."

He slowly shakes his head. "No. And now it's your turn to see what I have in store for _you_," he says, playfully tapping the tip of my nose with his finger. His lips meet mine for a sweet, gentle kiss, his arms pulling me close to his body. He feels so warm and real I would almost forget he has been six feet under for quite a long time now. This isn't the time to think of such depressing matters however, as there is so much fun to be had.


	5. Melted Brains

_I don't think any of the people who posed them are still reading this, but their questions regarding some things in part 2 are answered here. Better late than never, I suppose._

* * *

Carefully he coaxes me onto my back while his face is buried in my neck. I can faintly hear him sniffing me, inhaling my scent as he plants soft kisses along my collarbone. His fingers are trailing my sides, their touch light as butterfly wings. I shiver when his lips reach my breasts; so gently he covers them with kisses and licks, deftly avoiding the most sensitive area. This sweet frustration is making me so hot and so wet. And when he finally takes my nipple between his lips, I arch my back in surprise and nearly knock him unconscious. In a manner of speaking, of course.

My hips wriggle involuntarily under his tender ministrations, my hands no doubt making a mess of his hair as I enjoy the movements of his hands, his lips, tongue and teeth. A little squeal escapes me the moment my thief begins caressing my swollen lips through my panties with his skilful fingers. I am like putty in his able hands. Suddenly my panties have disappeared (where to, I do not know) and a few of those skilful fingertips slip into me, teasing and prodding. The sensation is divine, but also frustrating.

He doesn't say a word about my delicate condition, although I'm quite sure he sees it. There's not much to say about it anyway. Kisses and caresses are generously bestowed upon my belly before I feel his lips on the inside of my thigh. Time and time again he comes so close to the waiting wetness between my legs; time and time again he avoids it. Just deserts are being served to me.

After an eternity of soft, teasing touches on the insides of my thighs, his mouth joins his fingers in bringing me dizzying pleasure. The tip of his tongue flicks against my button ever so slightly, only once. I promptly push his face deeper into my lap. Evidently he takes this as an encouragement (as he bloody well should), slipping his fingers in deeper, his tongue beginning to lick me in slow strokes. I'm more used to swifter movements, but this... this is intense. Normally I just want to come as soon as possible, however now, I just lie back and indulge in the feeling of slowly and passionately being brought to climax.

The build-up is slow, a scorching heat forming in my every fibre until my legs clench shut around my lover's head and I scream, scream loudly because it feels as if my body is exploding in the most pleasant way possible. Multiple times, even. My orgasm lasts longer than it ever has; I have no control over my legs for a very long time. Finally they fall open and Daveth emerges gasping for air. He wipes my juices from his face and licks them off his hands; it's quite obvious he likes the taste of me.

I watch him take off his shirt; Maker, but he is pleasing to the eye. My eyes are inevitably drawn lower to his fantastic tool. It's funny how it occasionally appears to be making jerking motions on its own. He turns up the sheets and gestures me to get under them, an infinitely happy expression on his face. In mere moments he's here too, his lean body devoid of any article of clothing as he nestles up to me. "Are you comfy?" he whispers into my ear, his voice marked with great tenderness. I had never thought he would be such a sweet and considerate lover.

"Very," I whisper back. "But you would make me so happy if you'd just start... well, you know." Awkward. I'm inclined to use very, very bad words but they seem so inappropriate here.

A low chuckle emerges from his throat. "Well, if that is what my lady desires, that is what my lady shall have." Our mouths join in a long, vigorous kiss and he positions himself between my legs. I moan when he places the tip of his erection between my lips.

"Are you ready for me?" Daveth gazes down upon my face, his hazel eyes sparkling. It's cute how he treats me as if I'm a blushing maiden experiencing her first time with a man.

Wrapping my hands around the back of his neck, I breathe: "I swear, if you don't enter me _right now_, I will cry blue murder."

He is buried deep inside of me instantly, sliding in to form a perfect fit. My legs wrap around him of their own accord, pushing him in just a bit deeper. I close my eyes as he thrusts into me, slowly, gently, lovingly almost. All the while he is making love to me I feel his eyes on me, no doubt watching my lips part to let out my moans and gasps. Judging from the sounds that come out of him, he is enjoying the delighted expression my face must be twisted into.

I open my eyes far enough to look at him. His handsome face is flushed, beads of sweat formed on his forehead, some of them trickling down. Irresistible. I cup the back of his head, bring his face closer to mine. "Kiss me," I whisper.

A warm smile breaks through the concentrated look on his features. "I'll do whatever you want, sweetie," he murmurs and leans in for another kiss. My heart tightens unexpectedly. Cullen. He would treat me in such a way. Most of the time. I feel a tear escaping my eye. Damn it, I thought I was done with this. No, I won't let it affect me.

Despite my best efforts, Daveth notices something is off and breaks our kiss, slows his thrusting. "What is the matter?" He frowns with concern.

"Nothing." I shake my head. "Just an unpleasant memory, is all."

His hand tenderly stroking my cheek brings me great comfort. "Should I stop?" he asks, rather surprisingly.

"What?" I cast him an incredulous glance. "Of course not. Please continue." The pleading look in my eyes must have won him over, for he continues pumping into me with renewed vigour. Every thrust sends a jolt of pleasure into my underbelly, makes me moan and utter his name and words of praise. My thief isn't exactly quiet either, groaning softly, whispering so many different terms of endearment I've lost track of them. So, so sweet.

"Can... can we change the position?" he suddenly asks in a small voice. "I can't keep up for long like this." He grins apologetically.

"Sure. What did you have in mind?"

His body leaving mine makes me feel empty somehow; I hope he hurries up. "On your side," he instructs, promptly laying down behind me and pulling me close as I do so. Carefully he re-enters me and places my leg over his. I wonder why? Oh. _Oh my_. His arms wrap around me, one hand rolling a nipple between the fingers and the other hand fondling my swollen bump while his cock smoothly slides in and out of me. My mind goes all fuzzy with the onslaught of bliss on my senses.

"I want to please you," he affectionately mumbles into my ear. And please me he does. His nimble fingers combined with his marvellous erection make me come hard and fast, make me scream and shiver in ecstasy. But wait, there is more! For a moment his fingers slow down and then continue to make me come all over again, and over, and over, and over, never breaking the pumping rhythm of his hips. I can only lie there, limp as a ragdoll after an orgasm, tense as a bow string during one.

After what seems like an eternity spent in an orgasmic stupor (I highly recommend it), a familiar throbbing announces my lover's climax. His fingers busily rub me to my last one, so our cries mingle into a climactic duet, bodies pressed close to one another. When the tremors through my body have ceased, I open my eyes to find a blurry mess.

"Help me," I croak. "I think my brain has melted."

"Hmmm." Behind me Daveth sounds very content. "Poor baby," he drawls.

I roll over and face him. "So how did you get here?"

"Well..." I have to wait for my answer because he first raises his hands above his head for a long, comfortable-looking stretch. He reminds me a bit of a cat. Back at the tower we had one walking around; it was very good at catching mice. If I recall correctly, it was called Mister Wiggums. Stupid name, but somebody called it that anyway, and the name stuck. "Excuse me. I wound up in this blurry wasteland after I'd died, you know? I kept wandering, hiding from whatever else I ran into. At some point I began wishing that I'd never cut Duncan's purse, that he'd never conscripted me." He sighs, a sudden flash of pain in his eyes at the memory. "Eventually I woke up here, in my own bed no less. I knew it wasn't real, but I convinced myself it was. Been plying my old trade ever since."

I reach over to caress his face, making his eyes light up instantly. He must like me a lot if I have such an effect on him. "You could leave if you wanted to."

Suddenly the room around us is gone, nothing but the bare Fade landscape all around now. His form seems less substantial too. "It's time. I was just waiting for my last wish to be fulfilled," Daveth says with a smile.

"Uh, did it have anything to do with me, perchance?" My clothes are back on, the bed gone from under us. Well, at least the constant creaking is gone.

He chuckles, becoming less and less visible. "Sure did. I wanted you. From the moment we met, and even more when you brought yourself off lying in my bedroll." His translucent fingers cup my chin to press his lips to mine. They feel like no more than a warm breeze on my skin.

"I... You were awake the whole time?" Blood immediately rushes to my face.

"Of course I was. Did you really think I could fall asleep with a half-naked, beautiful woman pressed up against me?" The transparent figure laughs heartily. "Anyway, you've made this lowlife criminal very happy. Goodbye, my lovely." After blowing me one last kiss he dissipates until there is nothing left.

All this time I've been staring at him with my mouth open, unable to form any words. Goodbye, you silly, lecherous thief. I'll never forget you. Is this real, though? Isn't it just my crazy mind making me out to be much more important than I actually am? I suppose I will never know for sure.

"By the way," a disembodied, mischievous voice suddenly interrupts my thoughts. "I _was_ spying on you behind the tree that time. Goodbye!" His laughter slowly fades away.

I shake my head and laugh. Cheeky bastard.


	6. Beautiful Specimen

Someone is tugging at my shoulder, a female voice calling my name. Slowly I return to my senses, becoming more and more aware of my surroundings. A warm body is hugged close to my chest. "Astoreth, wake up!"

I groan and crack my eyes open. "What do you want, Morrigan? It's far too early for suggestive remarks about Alistair and me."

"That is not what I am here for. Do you want to know what I found out from Mother's grimoire?" The witch eyes me seriously, her elegant eyebrows knotted together.

I sit up a bit and yawn. Alistair is still sleeping with his arms clutched around me. "Do tell."

And just like that, moments after I've awoken, Morrigan drops a bomb on me. Apparently Flemeth is able to live for such a long time by occupying the bodies of her daughters, which explains why there are legends of many Witches of the Wilds, but Morrigan has never seen any of her sisters. So now she wants me to kill her mother, before she possesses her daughter's shapely body. Seeing how valuable Morrigan is to me, I probably will do it. I imagine having an ancient hag living in your skin is no picnic.

"Fine, I will do it, but not immediately. All right?"

The beautiful young woman nods, her fears slightly assuaged. "You have my thanks." She looks curiously at Alistair's head resting on my bosom. "Truly Astoreth, what do you see in this boy?"

"Are you kidding? Look at him." I slowly stroke his cheek. Even with his mouth half-open and snoring, he is a vision. Somewhat.

"He is salivating!" Morrigan points and laughs at my sleeping friend. "'Tis most unattractive."

"Yes, yes, I know. But look past that. And look at him with only your eyes, not your mind. Don't you just want to eat him up?" Under my touch, the Warden grumbles sleepily and hugs me even tighter.

"Certainly, but I would boil him first," the witch retorts dryly. "Trying to eat him as is would be too difficult."

I can see it now: Alistair in a huge cooking pot, trying to struggle his way out and Morrigan pushing his head down with an enormous wooden spoon, cackling maniacally. I can't help but burst out laughing. My reaction seems to delight her. "You know what I mean. And he's a virgin too. Imagine, a beautiful male specimen to mould into your every desire, rawr!" I wiggle my eyebrows, making Morrigan chuckle in amusement.

"I shall leave that to you." With a nod she walks out the door, leaving my sleeping friend and I all by ourselves. It would be so easy to just slip my hand into his smallclothes and feel him. But no, I shouldn't, no matter how much my body needs a bit of love right now. Damn you Daveth! Or, Daveth-impersonating figment of my wild imagination.

"No moulding you to my every desire today, I guess," I tell Alistair. He looks delicious. Although the smell of stale ale isn't all too appealing.

Much to my shock and horror, he laughs. "That's too bad." He sounds very much awake.

Oh crap, oh crap. He heard me. I'm going into ignore mode now. "How are you feeling?" Well, that was embarrassing. But I'm not going to let it show how much so. Too bad my red cheeks will give me away.

His arms release my waist. "I feel all right," he groans while stretching. "Goldanna can take her money-grubbing attitude and stick it where the sun doesn't shine."

"Well, that's a switch. I'm glad you're feeling okay though." He'll be much more useful in our search for those ruddy ashes. Why, Maker, why must we always perform such... seemingly impossible tasks? Frankly it's rather ridiculous. As if we're part of an adventure tale, or some such.

The Warden's handsome face breaks into a cheeky grin. "Well, hearing how a woman thinks you're a beautiful male specimen and wants to eat you up will make any man feel good about himself."

"You're never going to let me live this down, are you?" I sigh. Astoreth, you are the biggest boob in all of Fereldan history.

Alistair's grin turns wider. "Nope. Never. You like me, you like me," he sings. Subsequently he jumps out of bed and begins dancing about the room in his smallclothes, singing his vexing song all the while. "You like me, you like me..."

He must be doing this on purpose. Sweet mercy, that gorgeous body of his! The way those muscles flex, hmmm... I'm itching to rip that last bit of clothing away from him. I swear he is only a few inches away from being violently raped. Although I'm not even sure he would mind. Would it be considered rape, then? I guess not. Annoying little bastard. His singing is doing wonders in bringing down my libido. When is he going to stop? Fine, that's it. I'm done with this.

"Not anymore I don't!" I storm out of the room before anything bad might happen (like his facial hair suddenly being on fire), slamming the door shut behind me. Stupid song, stupid Alistair being awake, stupid Morrigan asking her stupid question. I'm going shopping, damn it.

* * *

This dark-haired lady in the market square sells the most exquisite smelling scents my nose has ever perceived. And very colourful fabrics, but I don't give a crap about stuff like that.

"Excuse me miss, is there something you would recommend when you..." Feel like ripping someone's heart out and feeding it to them. "Need to relax?"

"Perhaps lavender; it is very soothing," the vendor replies in a lovely lilting accent. Orlesian, like Leliana. She holds out a small vial to me, so that I may sniff the contents. It smells all right, but somehow it reminds me of old ladies."You may put a few drops into a hot bath, or on your pillow."

"Do you have something that's also soothing, but with a different smell?" No old lady smell for me, thanks.

The merchant laughs. "Ah yes, not everybody likes lavender." She comes up with another vial. "How about this special blend of vanilla and lemon?"

Another sniff, and I'm hooked. The scent is comforting and refreshing at the same time. "Oh, I'll take this one. How much is it?" I stick my hand down my pouch to find my coin purse. There is enough in here to buy myself a mansion, in a manner of speaking. If more cash comes our way, I may not be able to walk upright anymore. Ah, and I still have that dagger. I should buy a sheath for it.

The young woman smiles radiantly. "Five silvers, my lady." When I hand her the five and a little extra for her advice, she thanks me abundantly. Maybe Denerim isn't the best place to sell these luxury goods. Speaking of luxury goods, I still need something to support my bust when I've become too big for my bodice.

"Do you happen to carry undergarments?"

"But of course!" the woman says cheerfully. She reaches under her stall to reveal a display of frivolous, lacy unmentionables. "I keep them there because these silly urchins sometimes run off with them." She rolls her eyes. "Very annoying."

Finally I spy something that's not flimsy and unsupportive: a sturdy black brassiere, made from smooth fabric. Probably silk or satin. The only decoration is a bow between the cups. "I like this one. How much?"

"This is a well-made specimen, meant to support rather than adorn. Which is why the price is a bit higher: fifty silvers, my lady." The merchant looks at me nervously.

Fifty silvers? My robes cost less than that; I knew they were underpriced. "I'd like two, is that possible?"

"Certainly!" She claps her hands together and dives under her stall again, emerging with an identical brassiere. "Would my lady also like a matching _culotte_? What is the word... Panties?" The young woman holds them up: the same black fabric, but with lace inserts at the sides. Frivolous, but still functional. I like them.

"Sure, why not?" Let's live a little. How often do I get to buy pretty underwear? "Five pairs." One can never have too many panties.

The merchant makes a quick calculation, tells me the price; I pay her and she helps me put everything in my pack. "You have been my best customer yet," the lady beams. "I will give you one free pair," she throws the knickers in with the rest, " and something special." A lovely scarf is picked out for me, the red fabric shimmering with delicate golden flecks. What do you know, I think I do care about fabrics. "Next time you are in Denerim, come see Liselle again." Lovely name. Liselle smiles and puts the carefully folded scarf in my pack as well. We part after having thanked each other thoroughly. Get your mind out of the gutter; I know how it sounds. There was no nudity involved.

Quite close to the perfume seller, a dwarf is loudly praising his wares. From Orzammar, he yells. I try out several sheaths for daggers, but only one fits my blade. Sadly it is also the most expensive one, but hey, it beats having the thing cut a hole into my pouch and making me lose all my stuff. So I pay the merchant and there it goes, on my belt. The dwarf nods contently and says it suits me. Apparently I look like the dagger-wielding type.

"Ah, there you are," Alistair triumphantly says behind me. Oh no, not this crap again. Can't he just leave me alone? I turn to give him a piece of my mind, but as soon as I open my mouth, he says: "Hey, you're wearing that dagger. Looking dangerous."

I place my hands on my hips. "Is there something you want, Alistair?"

"Yes, I want you to not be mad at me." He shows me the adorable puppy eyes he knows I can't resist. Stupid Warden knows me all too well. "I brought you something too. Please forgive me." A paper bag is pushed into my hands. Upon opening it, a chocolate muffin comes out. Ooh, chocolate!

"Fine, I'll forgive you," I say with my mouth full of chocolaty goodness. "Now let's go. No doubt there is some danger-infested dungeon waiting to kill us." I begin walking in the direction of the inn. After a little while spent in silence, Alistair's hand grabs mine. Swallows it, more like.

"I'm sorry I acted like an idiot back there. It's not every day a pretty girl pays me a compliment, so I got a bit carried away." His voice sounds small and sad. Poor thing. I overreacted, clearly. His singing and dancing weren't so bad. And he thinks I'm pretty, that's a good thing.

I give his hand a squeeze. "No, _I'm_ sorry. Normally I wouldn't be affected by such silly ribbing, but I suppose I'm having these mood swings, like Morrigan said I would. Don't be sad, okay?"

"Thank the Maker." His strong arms scoop me up into a hug. "You're my best friend and I'd hate to lose you."

Aw, isn't that just the sweetest? "Don't you worry about that. You couldn't lose me even if you tried very hard."

"Good." He carefully puts me down and levels his face with mine. Forget about the dagger hanging off my hip, _this_ is dangerous. For one agonizing moment it's as if he is thinking of kissing me square on the mouth (if he does I'm going to ravish him right here in the streets of Denerim), but thankfully his lips touch my cheek instead. Disaster averted. Smiling happily, Alistair continues to drag me along to the inn, where the others are probably waiting anxiously for our return. And no doubt speculating on what we were doing. Bunch of gossipy _women_. Especially the men.

* * *

_I swear that such an embarrassing thing has happened to me once as well, albeit not quite that embarrassing. Up next: the glorious quest for the ashes of Andraste herself. Prepare to be blown away! _


	7. The Hunt for the Ashes

_Let this chapter blow you away!_

* * *

Ah, Haven is ever so lovely with all the suspicion they harbour toward anyone not from their village. But I guess that suspicion serves a purpose, as we came across corpses that used to be arl Eamon's knights and were subsequently attacked by the entire village. I guess they are part of some strange cult. It would seem that we are on the right track to finding them Ashes. Sten questioned my decision to come here, saying we should just go ahead and attack the archdemon. Sure, there are so many of us, it should be no problem. He seemed to understand though that we also need to stop Loghain, and for that we need the arl to get better. Sometimes I wonder why the qunari is still with me. I sure as shit don't care if he leaves. The man is useful, but I'm sure we would do fine without him. The complaining he sometimes subtly does about me bugs me; he can get bent for all I care.

And now it turns out they don't have revered mothers here in Haven, but revered _fathers_. Alistair made some joke about the mother superior from his Chantry, how her head would blow up if she knew this. I would like to see such an occurrence. Brains flying about the place, should be awesome.

Brother Genitivi was hidden in a secret room, his leg busted. The maniac was so enthusiastic about finding the Urn of Sacred Ashes that he _demanded_ we bring him to the temple they were supposed to be stored in. I got Sten to carry him, ha. I absolutely love how this temple is out in the mountains, covered with snow. And hard, bitter coldness. I bloody knew we would be trekking through snow at some point. _Knew it. _

"M-Maker, it's f-f-f..." My teeth are chattering so furiously I can hardly speak.

"Freezing?" Alistair offers.

"N-no... Well, let's ju-just leave it at th-that." I was going to say fucking cold, but freezing is essentially the same. And I'm getting a bit sick of Wynne lecturing me whenever I use a "bad word". I'm almost twenty-one, damn it. Not only do I know the f-word, I have plenty of experience with the act that it stands for. Bah humbug.

I look jealously at Morrigan, who has transformed into a bear. She must be toasty warm with a fur coat like that. The scarf I got in Denerim is pretty, but doesn't help against the cold at all. I don't think bears can actually manage it, but I could swear the witch is smirking at my constant shivers and chattering teeth. Bitch. But then Alistair wraps his arm around me and pulls me closer, making me feel a little less cold. He feels warm, even in all the snow. How is that possible? Why doesn't Zevran seem to be bothered by this temperature? His legs are partially bare, for crying out loud. Mine are just about to fall off altogether.

Finally we arrive at the temple, an imposing building that has become somewhat of a ruin over the ages. If Andraste's ashes are in here, it must be an old place. The woman was burned, I don't even know how long ago. Should have paid more attention in that class. Brother Genitivi does something with this key that we took off the body of Haven's revered father and the door opens. It's like a gaping maw into the heart of darkness. I wonder what we will find here. I'm willing to bet my boots it's danger of some kind.

* * *

Wow, this place is terrible. Not only is it really, really cold and I've tripped over a whole bloody lot of loose stones, it is also infested with insane cultists and local wildlife. Which consists of dragons (most of them still young) and strange demons that have their bodies studded with teeth. Yes, teeth. "But Astoreth, aren't they just spikes?" one might ask. Trust me, I know spikes when I see them and these aren't spikes. They are teeth! Sharp teeth, that hurt when they bite you.

Anyway, the scholar called these demons ash wraiths. People are burned in holy pyres or something and turn into these freaks. Apparently they protect the temple. I just told Genitivi to go home; I know he's going to take a long time with that messed up leg, but it must be safer than this cultist infested place. The poor man is in absolutely no shape at all to defend himself.

So now we are in some network of icy caverns. Many a cultist jumped us here, trying to kill us. Oh, look here. Cultists that do not immediately try to rip our heads off. We should go see what they want! I bet it's something along the lines of "kill us an Old God" or "get us the pot of gold that stands at the end of the rainbow". Not that I'm considering helping these maniacs, even if they just want me to recite a few verses of the Chant and reward me with my very own tropical island.

* * *

Well then. The cult leader called Kolgrim and his cheery friends believed that Andraste had been reborn as a dragon that lives on the mountaintop. Why would anyone believe that? These people are seriously messed up in the head.

And then he suggested we taint the Ashes with said dragon's blood, because they are guarded and they cannot do it themselves. I'm not that religious, but I'm not going to bloody taint the ashes of Andraste herself. I mean, come on. Kolgrim? Every letter of that says _evil_. Heh, when I said we wouldn't do it, he moved to draw his sword but I was quicker with my dagger and stabbed him in the throat. Instantly dead. It's odd how I have absolutely no qualms at all when it comes to killing a person. He had it coming to him and I had the opportunity. So why not? Guess I'm getting tougher.

You know, I don't get it. Why would you wear plate armour all over and not protect your throat, or wear a damned helmet? That is just plain old vanilla flavour stupid. The idiot had a horn in his pocket. I don't know what it does. I blew it a couple times, but nothing happened. Well, it said "toot".

* * *

So now we are outside, on the top of the mountain. There's the dragon up there, a high dragon. I read that they are very rare and make huge caverns for themselves, so they can store their harems of males. They don't do much besides sleeping and mating. Well now, that truly sounds like paradise to me. Anyway, maybe that horn will do something now. Oh, goody. The horn summons the dragon, and it is angry. I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die...

Although I feel a little crispy around the edges, I am still very much alive. The dragon was very difficult to take down, even with Alistair, Sten and Stubbs whaling away at it, Leliana and Zevran shooting it and Morrigan, Wynne and myself casting spells and healing. Poor Stubbs got burned quite badly and although I managed to heal him and take the pain away, he will always have a bald spot on his back. Alistair got stomped on by "Andraste" and was wounded severely, but Wynne's healing magic is really good. He's almost as good as new now.

And Sten, well, hardly a scratch on him. How does he do it? For someone so large, he is awfully quick. Somehow he was able to dodge every move the dragon could throw at him, while Alistair was stuck under its paw. Poor thing. I hate dragon's breath. Not because it stinks, but because it's _fire_. At some point the creature flew up and began spouting flames everywhere. The end of my braid caught on fire, and my sleeve. Now I have to cut my hair, damn it. Stupid dragon.

Eventually it was Morrigan who saved the day; she turned into a bear and mauled the dragon's soft underbelly until its guts came spilling out. Afterwards she complained about all the blood and gore she had on her. She whines a lot, but I still appreciate the things she does.

Somehow I know we are coming close to the Ashes. If only because the guardian the cultists were speaking of is standing before me. He must've been here a while.

The guardian politely bids us welcome. He'll probably not guide us straight to the Ashes. Yes, what did I say? Apparently there is some test that should prove we are worthy enough.

"Before you go, there is something I must ask." The man with the echoing voice looks me up and down. "I see that the path that led you here has not been easy. There is suffering in your past - your suffering, and the suffering of others. Jowan was discovered by the templars. You were helping him. Tell me, do you think you failed Jowan?"

My blood freezes in my veins. How does he know this? _How_? That is just scary. But if I look deep into my heart, I suppose yes, I do think I failed him. He and Lily were counting on me, and I let them down. It's as simple as that. "Yes. I could have done more."

The guardian thanks me for my response and begins asking questions of the others. I'm not going to listen; if my question was so personal, so must theirs be. Ah, I should tell my buddy I'm sorry the next time I see him. I mean, didn't I tell him he ruined my life? But it's not as if he has had it easy. I'm such a selfish wench.

Eventually the guardian says: "The way is open. Good luck, and may you find what you seek."

Yes, may we indeed.

* * *

Finally we stand before the Urn of Sacred Ashes. Leliana is so excited she is almost bouncing. What a test it was to get here. First riddles that had something to do with Andraste's past (thankfully I love riddles), then a spirit who looked just like Jowan. It had an echoing voice, just like the guardian. This spirit told me I should forgive myself and not get eaten away by "what ifs" and "could have beens". But what if I could have been...? Just kidding. Boy, I wonder how Jowan is doing. I miss him a lot.

Subsequently we had to fight some spirits who were in fact us, so they were tough. Well, not as tough as I'd like, sadly. Still, it wasn't very easy. Conquer yourself, or something? Very philosophical. Very deep. And then a stupid puzzle to make the bridge to the other side materialize... Who makes this stuff up? It's ridiculous. I understand that only worthy people should take a bit of the Ashes, but for the Maker's sake, we just slew a dragon. Cut us a break. Ah, I'm beginning to sound like Morrigan. Whine, whine, whine. Shut up, Astoreth.

One last thing to whine about: the getting naked and walking through a fire to be purified like Andraste was. I kept my eyes tightly shut, because really, I don't want to see everyone else naked. Actually I don't want them to see me naked either, but no doubt some got an eyeful. Ugh.

"Well, go on, take a pinch of the Ashes!" Leliana claps her hands in glee. Yes, I don't know why I'm dawdling. After all, we came all this way to get them so the arl could get better. And after all this crap he'd better, or I will be very, very miffed. So I stick my hand down the Urn and take a pinch of the Ashes, depositing them in a little vial.

"All right people." I stuff the Ashes down my hip pouch. "Back to Redcliffe. We have an arl to cure."

* * *

_And? Were you blown away by how little I seem to care about this annoying, annoying quest? Now I know you can't instantly kill Kolgrim, but I think one of those mini-games where you have to press some buttons quickly enough would have been fully justifiable here. Originally this was the ending to this instalment, but because I found it to be rather sucky, another (hopefully more interesting) chapter will follow. Freakin' ashes. _


	8. Gifts and Itching Fingers

"So, do you think this stuff really works?" I ask, toying with the little container of ashes. "Are these really Andraste's ashes?" If they're not, I'm going to throw a fit. I lost four years worth of hair over this, damn it. For years I'd been saving it, taking good care of it, so one day it would hang down to my bum. One dragon, one lousy dragon and I lose half of my tresses! Instead of down to the small of my back, they barely reach halfway down my shoulder blades. Ah, well. Sometimes I forget I was supposed to stop being vain.

Alistair looks up from his seventh bowl of stew. "Well, it bloody well should, after all the work we've done." He gives me stern glare. "And for the Maker's sake, stop messing with those ashes, before you spill them!"

"You're right, sorry." I put them in my pouch again. "So, are you feeling all right now? I mean, after that dragon stepped on you, and not long after that you had to get naked and walk through a fire and all that?"

"I'm okay." He winces and pulls at the bandage wrapped around his chest. "I'm lucky to be alive. Do you think I should get Wynne a present or something, after all she's done for me?"

"You know, that's not a bad idea. I should pitch in too, seeing how she's taken care of me as well. Do you have any idea what she might like?" I can think of nothing but a pair of knitting needles and some yarn, but that's just such a stereotype. Wynne may be old, but I don't see her knitting sweaters while sitting in a rocking chair or anything.

He shrugs. "I think... she likes reading. Her lamp stays on for a long time every night, and she drags this whole collection of books around with her."

"Oh, you know, I have this treatise on dragons and their mating habits in my pack. Let me go get it." I get up and trot into my tent. _On dragonlings and their creation_ is a fancy-looking thing. Bound in brown leather, the title stamped onto the cover in golden script. Very high quality vellum pages. Does the Circle library miss this, I wonder? Nobody's ever asked me to bring it back. What the... What is a dead, mutilated rabbit doing in my pack? Oh yuck, Stubbs... It's a good thing I keep all my stuff in separate bags. Well, my precious puppy means well. Bless his heart, I'll get him a bone next time. And tell him never to do that again. I return to the fire and present the tome to Alistair. "What do you think?"

"Huh. Very fancy." He flips through the pages. "It even has pictures. Neat. Are you sure you'd like to give this away?"

"I've read it about a hundred times, so I pretty much know the thing by heart." I hold out my hand to him. "Come on, let's give it to her right now. The light is still on in her tent."

Wincing in obvious pain, the poor Warden allows me to help him up. "Sure." Heavily he supports himself on me. "Sorry, I can't really walk very well at the moment. Do you mind?"

"No, no, of course not. Are you limping?" Eyeing him with concern, I lay an arm around his waist. This doesn't look good.

"Yes, but I'll be fine. I mend quickly." A bright smile adorns his face as we slowly make our way to Wynne's tent. Obviously his injuries don't bother him so much.

I nod. "If you say so. Wynne, are you still awake?"

A few rustling sounds from inside. "Why, of course. Is there anything you need, young lady?" She pokes her head out of her tent, and smiles upon seeing Alistair. "And young man."

"We just wanted to thank you for all you've done for us so far," he immediately takes the floor. "I would have been dead, if it weren't for you."

The old lady shakes her head. "Pish posh, don't be silly. I'm sure Astoreth would have done exactly the same for you." She smiles warmly at us.

"Yes..." His hand reaches over to pinch my cheek. "She'd have tried, but she wouldn't have been able to. I love you to bits, little Warden, but your healing skills are no match for Wynne's," he chuckles.

Love. Just hearing the word brings pain and joy at the same time. I clear my throat. "Well, in any case, because we wanted to thank you for your awesome healing, we have a gift for you." From behind my back I conjure up the book. "Here you are."

"Oh, thank you." Her voice sounds surprised when she accepts her present. "Ah, _On dragonlings and their creation_! I have been searching for this book for years, but sadly it was always gone from the library." Wynne bursts out laughing; she's opened the book and is pointing at the Circle library stamp on the first page. "And now I know the culprit."

Heat rushes to my face. "Uh, yeah, I've had it in my possession for maybe five years. Nobody's ever asked me to return it. I'm sorry."

"Don't be silly, child. It is a relatively obscure work, and the mating habits of dragons are not on the curriculum of Circle apprentices; I don't believe even Irving remembers this." Affectionately she pats the leather cover. "Thank you, this is truly a marvellous gift."

"You're very welcome!" Alistair smiles happily. "I suppose I'll retire for the night then. Can you help me to my tent?" he asks me.

"Whatever you need. Goodnight, Wynne."

She nods. "Sleep well, children. Astoreth, if I might, I would like a word with you." There is this stern glitter in her eye that doesn't bode quite well. I feel a speech of some sort coming up, but I have no idea what about.

"Sure, just give me a moment." After my colleague has wished the old lady a good night as well, we make our way to his tent. Slowly but surely we get there. "So..." I carefully deposit the poor thing on his bedroll and tuck him in. "Sleep well."

"What do you think Wynne wants with you?" His sweet hazel eyes shoot me a curious look.

I shrug. "Beats me. Maybe she's going to tell me about how I should always return things I borrowed?"

"Could be," he laughs. "How about a kiss goodnight?" With his typical puppy eyes, he points to his cheek.

"Sure." Softly I press my lips to the spot indicated. "Goodnight then."

"So uhm, when Wynne is done with you, will you come back and keep me company for the night?"

The adorable pleading look in his eyes isn't even necessary. As if I could ever deny someone this sweet and handsome such a trifle. "Of course. I will be right back, I'm sure."

Hmm, it's become increasingly difficult to keep my hands off Alistair, whenever I spend a night with him. And that's quite often. Always in his tent too. I know they're talking about us, and that some still believe that it was he that conceived my baby. The odds of that are quite non-existent, with both of us Grey Wardens. But of course, our companions don't know that. And now, for my lecture. "Wynne? What was it you wanted to talk about?"

"Come in." She moves the entrance flap away and beckons me in. "I wish to know what your intentions are with Alistair," she speaks, even before I've fully entered. She certainly doesn't like to waste time.

"Well, we are going to raise an army, quell the Blight and recruit new Wardens after that, I suppose." If we find out how the Joining works exactly. Darkspawn blood, some lyrium. A drop of archdemon's blood, if I remember correctly. And a speech.

The old woman raises an eyebrow. "That is not what I meant. You and he are quite taken with each other, aren't you?"

"Taken with...?" Oh, _right_. Another one with the wrong ideas. "I suppose we are, at that. But not in the way you seem to think we are."

Wynne seems taken aback. "Oh, I... Why are you so often in his tent at night then?"

It won't do to verbally abuse someone who has been such a great help to you, so stay polite. Wynne has a mothering personality; she can't help it either. "It's quite a common misconception that Alistair and I are a couple. Some are even convinced that my baby is his." I pat my belly. "Look, there is nothing for you to worry about. We're not lovers, and I don't think we ever will be. Alistair is a great friend, and he comforts me by letting me sleep in his arms. And snoring into my ear." Sometimes he even drools on me.

"Thank you for the explanation." She smiles, obviously more relaxed. "Forgive me the intrusion. I was merely concerned for your fellow Warden's sake; he is a fine warrior, but he does not seem to have as much experience in matters of the heart. And you..." Her cheeks turn a slight shade of pink. "Around the tower I have heard rumours of you, dallying with a templar."

Well, _crap_. "Who was talking about me behind my back?"

"Several of my apprentices loved talking about you. Always alone, or with one single friend. Hardly ever a smile on your face." Carefully Wynne pats the back of my hand. "You must have been happy to meet with Jowan again."

"Oh, yes." I get this pleasantly weak feeling in my stomach whenever I think of our night together. "It was good seeing him again, but I wish it had been under different circumstances."

My companion shrugs. "He made his bed, and now he is to lie in it."

"True enough. Anyway, just to make sure you don't get the wrong ideas: Alistair and I aren't lovers."

"Very well then," the old lady laughs. "And you and ser Carroll, was that also a baseless rumour?"

Carroll? The acting ferryman? The guy with the long face? The templar so easily distracted by a pair of half-covered breasts? I'll pass, thanks. "The idea of Carroll and I is baseless indeed. I think you got your names mixed up there."

"Was it truly Cullen then?" Wynne utters a shocked gasp. "No...! The shy, bumbling one we found trapped in the tower? At least now I understand whose soft lips he was speaking of, and why you slipped into a depression. Is your baby his?"

"Ha, I must be making a very good impression on you right now, no?" I can't help but laugh a little. Seducing a templar, sleeping with a blood mage... Sometimes I question my judgment. "Yes. This is Cullen's baby."

"Oh child, I wouldn't let something like that influence my opinion of you. We are all only human, after all." Smiling kindly, she gives a squeeze to my shoulder. "I assume that with the way he behaved toward you the last time, your relationship has come to an end. How are you feeling now?"

"I'm fine." I shrug. "Morrigan and Leliana have tried their best to comfort me, and so has Alistair. You know, Al even kidnapped Cullen so we could talk. Knocked him out, wrapped him in a carpet and had the both of them ferried over. Despite his efforts, it hardly helped; we're still through, and I never told him about our baby."

A delighted chuckle. "Oh my. Alistair truly cares deeply for you." Her expression becomes more serious. "I am sorry that things have worked out this way. It was a wise decision, not telling him of your child. Who knows how he might have reacted?"

"Those were my thoughts exactly. So uhm, how do you like travelling with all of us?"

The old lady laughs. "Yours is certainly a colourful group. The elven lad is quite persistent in his... attempts at courtship." She makes a face that says she is less than charmed by him.

"Courtship?" Zevran, you dirty dog. "Well, at least that proves you still have it." A long yawn rolls from my mouth unbidden. "Pardon me. I'm having a hard time keeping my eyes open."

Wynne lays her hand on my shoulder. "Yes, I can see that. You should rest. Goodnight, my dear."

"Sleep well." After giving her a brief hug (if she's going to act like my mother, I'll treat her as such too), I back out of her tent and make my way to Alistair's.

Most unexpectedly, Leliana pokes her head out of her tent and beckons me. "Astoreth, could I speak with you for a moment?"

"Of course." This must be about that paranoid woman; all the time, our bard was so very quiet and gloomy. She only perked up when we were standing before the ashes. "How are you feeling about what happened to Marjolaine?" I comfortably settle beside the bedroll, across from Leliana. Her fancy tastes are evident in the frilly nightgown she's wearing. Cute, but not my cup of tea.

She sighs deeply. "I wish things had happened differently, but knowing her and knowing me, I don't think it could have." A faint, sad smile appears on her face. "We had good times though, and I look back on those fondly. Whatever happened after will never change the truth of the past."

"You had some kind of special relationship with her, didn't you?" This Marjolaine must have meant so much to her, what with the way she reacted when she found out the woman had it in for her, and the way those two seemed to know each other. Apparently the little redhead really enjoyed being a bard and the power that came with it. I'm not going to judge her; all that stuff happened a long time ago, and now she's killing creatures on our behalf. How is that much different? I'll tell you this though: where I find Leliana's accent beautiful and melodious, Marjolaine's was just grating. Ugh. Just thinking about it nearly makes my ears bleed. Same goes for that twit Isolde.

The bard chuckles awkwardly. "Yes, a long time ago. She was a worldly woman, willing to share so much of her knowledge with me." Another forlorn smile. "I would have done anything for her, once."

"Aw..." I pat the young woman on the knee. "You're too good for her, you know." I seriously mean that. Leliana's been nothing but nice to me, never truly complaining about our hardships out on the road and so very helpful in combat. Nobody can fell an opponent with a well-placed arrow like she can.

She blushes visibly. "Thank you. She used to be so different. Happier, I think. She loved music, and has a weakness for sugary cakes." An adorable giggle escapes her; probably some mental image about Marjolaine and her cakes. "Maybe she was always lying about who she was, or maybe she changed over the years."

"Everyone changes." I shrug. "Just another fact of life."

"That's what they say, and the rest of us just have to move on." Leliana absently runs her fingers through her hair. "And I think I have. Despite what Marjolaine says, I am not like her. I know that." Smiling sweetly, she takes my right hand in both of hers. "I followed you to make the world a better place and as long as I keep that in mind, I will stay at peace. Thank you, for helping me."

"Oh, Leliana, please, that goes without saying. I'll help you with whatever you need done." I consider her a friend, really.

In a slightly strange gesture, she lightly presses a kiss to the back of my hand. "I'm glad I left Lothering in your company. You have proven a true friend and I thank the Maker for you."

"Same here." I reach out to briefly touch her cheek. Such a beautiful face, and those lips... Soft and full. Oh, what am I thinking? This isn't the time for such things. "I'm really glad you came with us."

"You are too kind. Then I shall stop bothering you; I can see you are in desperate need of some sleep," she chuckles. Subsequently she crawls into her bedroll. "Goodnight, my friend."

"Goodnight." I bend over her to kiss her goodnight, in a very modest way, of course. "Sweet dreams."

And now, off to Alistair. Here's to spending many of my nights with an exquisitely handsome young man. I'm just going to have to take these itching fingers for granted.

* * *

_Makes for something a little different from all those honey-dripping scenes with Alistair, doesn't it? This concludes this part of _AdF_, thank you for reading. Expect the next one in a few days. _


End file.
